Spazz

The days of feeling timid on the scooter seem to be behind me. I have no illusions of being a great rider but, after a couple of- no wait, three- make that four- near disasters, I'm easing off on the throttle a tad. Even people who don't wear helmets themselves have been asking when I'm going to get one. The speedometer needle never reaches past 95 but another teacher, who tried and failed to pass me in her car on the way to work one morning, informed me I'd been doing well over 100. She also advised me to get a helmet and has been reminding me daily ever since.

I do a lot of joy-riding, just tearing along the roads with no particular destination. After splashing around La Bocana one Sunday with Will and Jasmine, I rode around for hours, checking out every little side road. Most of these exist just for scenic lookout points and are well worth the detour. I was going too fast after the steep hill between Entrega and Organo and completely forgot about the ginormous potholes. I hit a crater so hard the bike came to a hard stop. I shook and rattled a bit but I wasn't hurt and neither was the bike. If I'd been on the ten speed, I'd have been over the handle bars and spreading my skin across the asphalt.

My biggest daymares have always been about taking down an innocent bystander. That could have come true coming home around dusk last week. Between UMAR and town, is a split highway with 3 lanes each direction, perfect for ripping along like a rocket. I like to hang my mouth open and let the wind puff out my cheeks with tears pouring across my face. Fun. The only drawback is that the ride is over before Rancid can even finish playing "Some People Like Poison" and it's always way too soon to pull into the apartment block and park. Anyway, I was further to the right than necessary and I didn't notice this cyclist until I was much closer than I should have been. I probably wouldn't have clipped him but it was a solid wakeup call. I like to give cyclists lots more space than he had.

You know you're not a great driver when you almost plow yourself into the back of a parked bus. I was doing the max (maybe 110). I glanced in my mirror to double-check before changing lanes. Yep. Coast was clear. Whoa Nelly! In that quick glance, I'd covered a shocking amount of ground. I was right on top of that bus. I am a bad bad driver.

Worse than the mega-pothole was the big fat wasp that slapped my face and planted a stinger just below my eye at 80 kmh. I managed not to spazz completely and pulled over to the side. I peeled it off my face and its legs were still kicking. Ow. Ow. Ow. I felt like I'd been punched hard but I knew I could still punch the clock on time so I revved up again with a primal scream of frustration and pain that could be heard over the motor.

I had a sense of deja vu. It's been almost a year since the bicycle accident in Korea. Again I was heading to work with a swollen left eye. The damage wasn't as bad as I feared. I punched in and knocked on the medico's door. He gave me a prescription for anti-inflammatories or something. I don't know. By about 2 in the afternoon, it stopped hurting every time I smiled so I just put some ice on it when I got home.

I've been wanting to change apartments for a while now. I've never been quite content with the place but laziness and apathy have me kept me where I am. On days when I should be on the hunt for new digs, I tell myself that the place isn't so bad, in spite of the stupid carpet, the ugly peeling paint from the ceiling leak that took a month for the landlord to fix (the paint and paster may never be replaced), the non-working air conditioner, the toxic moldy cupboard, the ugly furniture. At least it's livable. But it keeps deteriorating and the owners never bother to do anything. This might have gone on indefinitely if it hadn't been for the blackout.

One night the power went out in several buildings for a few hours. Eventually it came back for everyone but me. Even the people above me had it but I went to sleep without a fan.

William thought I might not have paid my power bill. They don't wait too long down here. But I hadn't received a bill. No matter. Sometimes they get lost. OK. I went down to the power company (CFE)on my lunch break. They told me I hadn't been cut off and that the bills hadn't been sent out. I ended up paying a week early. I thought I understood the bulk of what the lady told me but I got Mike and Rowena on the phone to talk to her. When the power went out, the big fuses had had probably blown on the power box. Mike came right over to the apartment and I followed him through downtown traffic to a hardware store.

The first time we were separated in traffic, I was behind a young guy with an identical scooter to my own who said he'd had his for over a year without a single problem. Yay.

Mike installed the new fuses. No luck. A neighbor came by to help. Same result. I called the Residencial Chahue administrator. They would send someone over right. away. Eventually we had to go back to work and nobody had arrived. I stopped at the administrative office to ask about the holdup and the secretary promised me "Una hora mas". That was ominous. The last time I had a promise like that from these people, it was a week later before I saw any action. This time was no different. I was without power for a full six days and nights. A lot of food turned ripe and dangerous. I could rail on but you get the picture.

Some friends have said they liked the old dump and diudn't mind the nasty old carpet but they have never had to wake up to the place. What seems rustic and charming with a few drinks under the belt is just rotten and dirty when you smell it in the morning. The good times some of us have shared there had nothing to do with the locale and everything to do with the company. I know I won't feel sentimental about the mold.



Anyhow, I have a beautiful new apartment to move into tomorrow. It's clean and well maintained and basically the same price as the old one. It's going to be great.